Landing in London
by musicalnotesalldayerryday
Summary: [AU]  Edward is a street rat living in 1880's London. He is all alone in the world until taken in by a stranger who seems familar in his past little does he know that Alphonse is his brother, but has dark secret of his own. Elricest!
1. Chapter 1

I don't have any memories as a kid. Anything after the age of six is fine, but ask me a question about my younger years? You've got me. Maybe my Mom died; maybe she simply left. Or maybe she gave me up to my Dad. I honestly doubt that she gave me to him though…what kind of Mom would give her kid up to an evil bastard? She must've been dead if I ended up there.

But I'll never really know those days, will I? What happened those first six years, a third of my life isn't that important. So it's nothing to dwell over, right?

Wrong.

I may not have any clear memories, I may not remember faces or names or places, but I do remember someone. Not looked like or who they were, but I remember someone's voice, soft and warm. I…I think he was a boy, around my age, but back then I sounded like a girl, so who knows. But he would always ask if I was okay, hide with me from Dad. He was the one person I loved, the one person I could talk to. I remember…I would hide him from my father, protecting him from those hands that left you black and blue.

But I'll never know what happened to him. Maybe all this time I've been imagining this voice in my head; maybe I just want something to cling helplessly to. Even so, I'd like to think he's living somewhere, and that he's safe and happy. Warm too, since another winter's coming.

X

XXX

X

A strong wind blew, chilling everything in it's path. A teen standing by the Thames felt the freezing wind like a smack in the face; how could it be winter? Hadn't the other winter just ended a few weeks, a few minutes ago? Hadn't he just made it through one tough winter to savor the warmth he'd been missing? And again, it was winter?!

'Complaining won't change a thing' he thought miserable. It was time to make a plan, a way to survive the cold; having no home, no family made it much more difficult. The warmth was more important right now, and making sure the cold didn't freeze his was an issue that would come in the next few weeks. Being one of those wanderers without a home, a street child, and a thief wasn't easy, and it was a joke that anyone would want to live a life like his. There were so many names for what he 'was' but the majority of these names were simply stereotypical. Besides, he preferred his own name, thanks. Edward was a much better name than being called a rat of 1888.

It wasn't that Edward didn't do anything to earn money—on the contrary he had been working for the last couple of years at a number of different places. But when his employers found out about his ability to read, write, do math, and speak French fluently many would simply become too angry to think; ironic when the thing that angered them was involving intellect. Edward wasn't exactly sure what had made them so furious, but he assumed that they felt as if he had lied to them about having no home to simply get a job. He didn't look the part of someone knowing much of books and of the sciences, the sciences being one of his passions as a small boy. His teacher, his "big brother" had been good to him.

Taking a deep breath Edward sighed; the memories were making his head hurt. All memories ever did was make him see things he tried avoiding the majority of the time. He didn't want to think about his childhood but to him, childhood ended at the age of eight. Its demise was when he had his final escape from his father, when he had decided enough was too much. That was when he met his savior, when on a rainy night by the very same Thames he was saved. A young man in his twenties, dark hair and eyes, and an interesting view on life were what this stranger had. But none the less he was the new life Ed needed.

Roy Mustang, the man who had taught Edward to fight, given him knowledge that was useful; in his opinion his big brother. Roy had been Ed's teacher and friend, the one who looked after him after his escape. Those were happy times, and the best that Ed remembered. But sadly, god, fate, or something else hadn't liked this change for Ed, and his luck would not hold—Roy left when Edward had just turned eleven. For all Ed knew Roy was now dead. At least, he was now dead to Edward, just as all the images from his past were.

Ed shook his head—enough memories for one day, enough painful thoughts. The air was clearing with a breeze from the ocean, up the filthy river. A nice change from smoggy, thickness London's air was known for even if it was cold. Winter wasn't so terrible when you could breath, right? But this cold air was colder than last year, colder than years before. Edward didn't think he'd ever felt the wind so cold before, and the thought of breathing the fridge air all winter made his lungs numb. Would he be able to make it this year?

Time for a distraction, something less depressing, something to keep his mind off of morbid things. Digging through the giant trench coat, Edward looked for his cigarettes, the one thing he would willingly waste his money on.

Oh, the habits he had gotten over the years! It wasn't something he was proud of, by any means. When he had lived with Roy the older man had smoked, and at the time Edward had hated it. The smell, and the way Roy was weakened without the small things. But it was something that had happened over time, something that had melted into his childhood, and with curiosity Ed tried them and was too addicted. He must've been...what, thirteen when he started? It was better than drinking, and he wasn't going to try that new cutting thing. It didn't make sense to cut your skin when life sucked. Wouldn't that just make things worse? Make you feel even more sorry for yourself? Smoking was an alternative to all of that, and it was, if possible, soothing when things weren't going his way.

Trying to protect his small match from the wind, Ed used his hands to muffle the winds away from the fire he would make in a split second. Holding his breath, he struck his match paper. Instantly, the wind blew out his little light, exactly what Edward was expecting. Realizing that there was no way to light it, Edward stuck the small 'death sticks' back into his large pockets. His baggy trench coat, his baggy clothes. He was only around 5"1, so most clothing was...bigger anyways. Most sixteen year olds were an easy four inches taller than he was; heck even the girls of London were taller. But considering the diet he had, it was easy to say that Ed was very underweight. But…his height was just genetics, and he disliked the simple fact greatly.

'Rather show my ribs than steal to live.' He thought bitterly, frowning at the though.Edward was proud to say that even though he had been living off of the streets for five years he had never stolen from another person. He used clothing that was trash of the wealthier persons of London, found coins on the streets to buy food with. Certain bars and restaurants always threw away whole meals, at the end of the day, and if you picked the right places you'd have an okay set of shoes, feel less hungry, and have a couple of pounds to your name.

At the thought of food and his weight Ed's stomach grumbled. Food would be really nice right now. But most of London's cats, rats, and other animals will have eaten what was outside of the restaurants. It was time to find a place to sleep for the night, to live another day, and wake in the morning.

Turning from the river, Edward walked down the cobblestone street, towards Covent Garden—it was a long walk, but he could sleep in the garden with the roses. The weather would kill them off by the end of tomorrow, and he had spent his summer with the sharp thorns and the beautiful, blood red flowers.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ahhh! I'm so sorry about this really really long delay everyone! I just needed to make a few disclaimers; the chapter in question was originally a part of a role-play and I rewrote what I thought was more in character and more suitable for the story. Also, I don't own anything._

I had a family. I did, really. Not just the travelers, but a real family, flesh-and-bone blood family. I must have, right? Everyone has to; even I must have been born from somewhere. At least once I had a mother, and a father. They were real, I'm sure of it.

I wasn't always like this. There was a lady, once, a dirty-snow skinned lady with shadows under her eyes. She smelled always smelled and acted strange. That was my mother, maybe - a washed-out wraith wreck. From that creature I may have been born.

Maybe I just wandered in one day and she got used to me. Sometimes I don't think she knew I existed.

Then one day she was gone, and couldn't hear her anymore. In many ways she had never been there; after all she had been mentally away for so long one was use to it. It was still comforting to hear her breathing and knowing I had someone though.

I have memories of being a small boy on the street corner, waiting for something, anything. Men in bright colors told me to hold a hat and do cartwheels, gave me a shiny apple for it. I was accepted by them and my life had many more happy moments because of it.

I can see all of his memories, some much sharper than others, happy and sad; I can see them right up until he looks in the mirror and it's his sixteenth birthday. He nods his head and there's a single moment of pain, and he loses consciousness...

...and when he wakes up he is me.

xXx

London at night was a beautiful thing, but only if one didn't look too closely. A chill wind off the river dissipated the usual stench and purified the city, if only for a while. The unexpected early chill blew people closer together; the all huddled and walked more quickly towards the closest shelter they could, many mumbling and complaining about the "bloody cold".

Alphonse considered himself very lucky indeed. He loved the winter; grey, in his opinion, was a beautiful color for both water and sky, and there was always a bit of clean snow left somewhere. The air was sharp and easy to breathe, not the usually stuffy, putrid smell throughout the whole city. Smells and sounds carried what felt like miles, and less people were out wandering like he was. Yes, it would always be wicked cold, but Al was always cold anyway, so it didn't make much of a difference.

He turned down an unknown street, smiling at the shivering passers-by. Who could fail to be in a good mood on a night like this? A petite young girl bowled past him, knocking against his leg. Squealing an apology, the child continued running until she caught up to a waiting figure; her mother, presumably. Sweet. Al scanned the semi-crowded street, looking at all the people still daring to be outdoors. People were interesting, he could always give them that. Sure, they killed each other over petty things, they loved others for no reason. But that was what made them all the more interesting; so predictable, and at the same time never doing quite what he expected. Nearby an older couple chuckled and smiled at the little girl's antics. A younger pair embraced in front of a building, blind to everything but each other. Such groups were everywhere, really. A knot of young men emerged from a bar, laughing good-naturedly. A family hurried down the street...

Al turned to walk away, his good mood rapidly fading. Oh, this was ridiculous; he really had to stop these stupid fits of melancholy. 'You knew the consequences when you agreed to this.' He reminded himself sharply, biting back a sigh. He _had_ been told what would happened, had been warned that it would be lonely. But until he was really in the situation where he had to stop interacting with people after his sixteenth birthday he didn't realize how empty things could seem. Even though he hadn't interacted with people much, it was still an empty spot in his life that even all his cats couldn't fill; a cat wasn't one to have much of a conversation. And why risk those conversations? He was a danger to any human he got involved with, and besides he was mostly nocturnal nowadays anyway.

He did have a family, of a sort, even if he didn't often see them. When he was very young, he'd simply never questioned why most of the members of the nomad musician group who'd taken him in never aged; as he himself grew older, he was told more and more of the secrets. At the time he hadn't been too shocked, and as uncommon it all seemed to fit that they were vampires. And being his family he'd wanted to join them. So when he hit sixteen, becoming an adult they'd honored his request to be turned into a vampire himself. His life was different now, but this was what he'd wanted. He had been, and was willing to pay the price of being alone. He'd probably hear from his 'siblings' soon anyways. If anything would drive them back to London, it was winter. It wasn't for the holidays though because they'd all been gone for the previous Christmas, and probably the one before that as well. Al sighed, smile fading more. His friends would scoff at his continuing interest in human holidays if he ever told them.

The winter night he'd thought so beautiful seemed much darker now and colder now; perhaps this was why humans hated it so much. It did nothing to cheer him up, to make his feel as joyful as he had felt only moments ago. He was trying vainly to convince himself that, really, he'd hear from his friends any day now, they'd be back soon. He knew not to put too much hope into that, but he couldn't help it; he had always been an optimistic person. Al pulled his canvas coat tighter around his shoulders to keep it from flapping - really, it was mostly for show since it wasn't like he had any body heat - and set off at a run. He'd go to the big rose garden. The flowers had maybe one more night left before the frost claimed them, and last week he'd seen a smallish white cat with pretty green eyes around the place. A new kitten would get rid of this dark mood nicely.

Finally, he reached the garden - and stopped. A sweet smell, sweeter than anything he'd ever smelled was coming from the roses. 'Damn', he thought, feeling a wave a frustration over coming him. He wanted to know what smelled so good, so delectable. But what if it was a human, what if he couldn't control himself? He was still a new vampire, and self-control was the hardest thing to train; some of the oldest vampires had problems with it when they could smell blood that was exceptionally sweet. All he had come here for was a kitten!

Shaking his head, Alphonse thought of other things—the kitten the highlight of his thoughts—and willed himself to ignore the sweet sent. He looked around, scanning and trying to see where the human was. Now that he was willing the sent away he was curious as to what a human was doing here in the rose garden. Who would hang around a garden with nothing in bloom? Cautiously, he prowled in among the bushes, looking for the source of the smell, and was considerably startled to find his prey lying under a heap of rose vines.

This was…Strange. He's probably homeless, then. Still, it was no problem of his; he'd just seek out the cat and be on his merry way. He turned to go, but a flash of light off of something caught his eye. The figure under the bushes had gold hair. After noticing that, Al simply had to kneel and inspect the prone body further. He didn't know why, but it interested him. Tentatively, he put out a hand and touched the thing's shoulder, or what was probably shoulder under all that trench coat.

"Hello?" he said quietly. "Can you hear me?"


End file.
